


(Don't) Play It Again

by relic_amaranth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, Other, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-27 04:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18296936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relic_amaranth/pseuds/relic_amaranth
Summary: Everyone has that one song that they just can’t stand for whatever reason, regardless of how good, bad, or innocuous it actually is. For you, hearing that song is like getting a bucket of ice water dumped on your head.Gabriel, of course, takes this as a challenge.





	(Don't) Play It Again

**Author's Note:**

> Here is a Gabriel/Reader fluffy-nonsense fic; I hope you enjoy it.

 

 

You wake to a chill where your skin meets the air and sunlight is just barely grazing the curtains. An arm slips around your stomach and pulls you back into a very warm, very bare chest. You smile as lips move from your shoulder to your earlobe.

“Gabr’l,” you say, mangling the word with a tongue still trying to sleep in the early morning hour. You wish your consciousness could claim the same.

“We have some time,” he says, still kissing with light brushes of his lips over your bare skin. “Before you have to get up and…ugh…be _responsible_.”

You laugh as the motions begin to tickle and the rest of your body begins to stir. Well, he has a point. Especially the ‘ugh’ part, so you're more than willing to add something nice to the morning…

Until the alarm goes off.

The alarm being the crappy clock radio by the side of the bed that tunes into the most static-riddled radio station you’ve heard playing _that fucking song_. You slam your hand on the top of the radio once, twice, but it isn’t until the fourth hit that the thing finally turns off and it’s too late– you’re very much awake now and very much not in a good mood. In any form or fashion.

“Uh…everything okay?” Gabriel asks, looking at you warily. If he wasn’t who he was you’d expect a splash of holy water or handful of salt.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just…out of the mood,” you say and sit up.

“What? Why?” Gabriel asks, on the edge of pouting. “Where do you have to go in such a hurry?”

You chuckle and give him a little kiss on the nose. He scrunches it in displeasure. “Sorry Gabriel,” you say and slip out of his hold to get dressed.

“Seriously, what did you set that alarm for?”

“The alarm was set well in advance so timing isn’t a problem. It’s that fucking _song_.” You stick out your tongue like it can get rid of the bad taste.

“The…song?” Gabriel sounds almost as confused as Castiel at his most angelic.

“I can’t _stand_ that song. It’s just…” You shudder. “If I listen to it too much it puts me in a bad mood. Certainly knocks me right out of _that_ mood, so that’s one more reason to hate it.”

“It’s…” Gabriel appears in front of you. “It’s just a song. It’s dumb, yeah, but you’ve listened to _way_ worse.”

“Maybe.” You lean forward and kiss him again. “But it is what it is. Honestly, I cannot hate that song any more than I already do.”

Gabriel pouts and you laugh, leaving him to sulk quietly. He’ll get over it, you figure, because he always does. And hey– once you’re showered, maybe you’ll be up to making the morning a little better for the both of you.

And you do. However, you really should have chosen your earlier words more carefully.

 

“How’s it hangin’ sweetcheeks?”

You stop before you can take a bite and glance up with wary amusement, half-expecting Gabriel to be dressed in neon, or like a villain from an eighties teen movie. But Gabriel looks as Gabriel always tends to look– blending in. More or less.

“Hey.” Gabriel swipes a fry and waves it at you. “Johnny Lawrence has nothing on me.”

“Of course not,” you say as he starts eating your food. Somehow (“somehow”) the amount of fries remains the same. “Are you riding with me?”

“No.” Gabriel rolls his eyes. “I promised Castiel I’d help him with something.”

“What a nice big brother you are,” you say and laugh when he flicks a fry bit at you. Suddenly he appears next to you and kisses you deeply, salt melding and melting between your tongues.

Gabriel pulls back abruptly and winks. “Thanks for the snack, Sugar,” he says, and vanishes.

Shockingly, his disappearing act draws no notice. Well, Gabriel _can_ be subtle. When he wants. So you just shake your head, pick up your burger, and prepare to take a bite.

That’s when you hear it.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” you say and drop your food. But no– it’s _that_ song. And this stupid place has the volume up too loud for you to ignore it. You rifle through your bag but your headphones are nowhere to be found, of _course_. Thankfully, by the time you’re done searching, the song is at least almost over with.

Then the sound system glitches.

And it starts from the beginning.

“F–” You toss your food back in the bag and take it to go. Apparently it’s just one of those days.

 

A few hours later you’re driving to the next state over when The Song comes on the radio. On _two_ different stations. You punch it off but that’s…weird. Really weird.

The road is straight, flat, and empty. You slip on your Bluetooth and make a call.

“Hey,” Dean answers, not short of breath or otherwise distressed. Good.

“Are you involved in whatever Cas needed Gabe’s help for?”

“Uh, yeah. He’s actually being pretty helpf–” Dean’s voice becomes fainter, like he’s turned away from the phone. Even though it’s a cell phone. You roll your eyes, but smile at Gabriel’s voice in the background. Your smile grows when Dean’s voice becomes clearer with, “–not going to tell them you love them! You got your own damn phone.” Dean huffs. “Anyway, what’d you want?”

“Tell Gabe I love him too.”

“Wh– I’m not going to–” There are kissy noises in the background but still relatively close and Dean swears. “You two are disgusting,” he says and hangs up.

You laugh and toss your earpiece onto the passenger seat. So, it’s not Gabriel then. You’ll have to tell him about all this later– far from being offended, he’ll probably get a kick out of it.

 

You’re speaking with a witness who might have information on whatever the hell you’re hunting, when some sort of instrument starts playing. If it was tuned you might have a shot at figuring out what it is. (A tuba? You think?)

“I’m sorry,” the woman says and winces at a…a very _interesting_ note. “My Oliver has to practice for school.”

“I understand completely,” you say and open your notebook. “Now, you told–” In with discordant notes you can barely hear it, but once you do hear _that song_ , you can’t stop hearing it no matter how badly the kid is trying to mangle it. “Son of a _bitch_!”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, um, just a flash of insight,” you say quickly and scribble some nonsense on the page. You give the woman your kindest smile.

“Oh, well all right then,” she says and sits a little straighter. You carry on with the interview as the kid practices. And practices. And _practices_.

To his credit, the song does get more recognizable as time goes on.

By the end of the interview, your eye is twitching and Yvonne, the very nice lady who has inadvertently helped you identify someone within the _police_ as the town’s source of problems, looks concerned. “Are you all right?”

“Job hazard,” you say and smile blandly. “Thank you for your time, ma’am.”

The song starts again, and you’re too tired to even grind your teeth. You _really_ need to kill something.

What happens if you tear out a werewolf’s heart with your bare hands _before_ you jam silver in it?

 

At first you assume the song is having a resurgence. Or maybe it never actually went away, you just got lucky. In either case, you’re hearing it a lot again.

Naturally, it is not putting you in the best mood.

“Are you okay?” Sam murmurs as you both sit at the bar, waiting for the monster du jour to take Dean’s bait.

“I’m fine,” you say and watch Dean work. He’s doing good, charming the pants right off the bitch who very obviously wants to drain him dry. But then the chorus starts and you _twitch_. “God I hope this nest is big. I want piles of heads. _Piles_.”

“Easy, Venom,” Sam says and you actually stare at him. He frowns. “I’m not _completely_ out of the loop.”

You snort and go back to watching Dean. Though you try to tune out the song, it seeps into your consciousness regardless and Sam jabs you a couple of times to make you lighten up. When Dean and the vamp leave you have to slow up to keep off their heels.

You clear out half the nest on your own. Dean and Sam are impressed and frightened, respectively. Or both, equally.

 

You’re currently at a drive-in with Gabriel and channeling your inner rebellious fifties teenager. You have no idea what the movie’s about. It’s fantastic.

And then.

“What’s wrong?” Gabriel asks, ruffled in a way you wish you could appreciate.

But not right now. Those opening bars… He opens his mouth and you shush him. As the next notes come, you recognize it as a _goddamn slow cover version of that fucking song_. You let out a heavy sigh and try not to grind your teeth as you sink back into your seat.

“What just happened?” Gabriel asks, looking from you to the screen and back again.

“I, uh…” But irritation is rising and the mood is fading. You are tired. You are just…tired.

“It’s not–” Gabriel guffaws. “You're joking.”

“I. Wish.”

Gabriel makes a ‘tsk’ noise and leans in closer to you. “Come on; I’ll take your mind off of it.”

“No.”

“But–”

“Gabriel.”

Sufficiently convinced that no, you’re not kidding, he sits back in his seat, and glares straight ahead. His hands, once roving over your body, are folded under his crossed arms, and his lips, just moments ago grazing your skin, are furrowed into a pout.

You hate that you can literally say that this song is now _ruining your life._

 

However.

Maybe less than a week later you’re in a movie theater, suffering through that same mediocre film and posing as an usher as you scout a potential haunting. But when the scene comes on…the song doesn’t play.

Hm.

 

It’s a nice day in the library. A _quiet_ one. As of late, Dean won’t even play his own music around you, just in case. You figure it’s better that way. And today, working around Dean and Sam and Cas, the silence is nice.

At some point, though, Cas starts humming. That’s…strange. He keeps his face in his book while you, Sam, and Dean all trade confused and bewildered looks. And the way Cas is humming is very mechanical– like he’s trying to remember each note as he gets to it. You and Sam smile, and Dean rolls his eyes but you see a smile start to form before he puts his head back down. You and Sam follow suit, and while you’re cleaning up a clumsy translation, you let the song filter through your brain in the background. It sounds so familiar, you just can’t place–

Wait.

“Son of a _bitch_!” you hiss and slam your book shut hard enough to make the table rattle and Sam and Dean jump.

“Uh oh,” Dean mutters as Cas slowly lifts his head.

“Are you all right?” Cas asks, somewhat wary.

Not wary enough, but you do your breathing exercises. “I’m fine. Cas _tiel_ …” You breathe deep. “That’s an…interesting song.”

“It is,” Cas says and looks thoughtful. “Very ‘catchy.’ That’s the word, right?”

“Mm hm. That’s…a word,” you say and steadfastly stare at your project. It goes back to being quiet.

Then Cas starts again, and your pencil snaps in your hand.

“Uh, Cas, let’s–” Sam clears his throat and bumps the table when he scrambles to get up. “Cas, can I talk to you? Somewhere else?”

“I suppose so,” Cas says slowly and stands.

“I’ll help,” Dean says, closing his laptop and backing away from you like you’re a hungry tiger. Sam and Dean then basically run away with Cas caught in between them.

You sigh and let your forehead fall against the table. This has _got_ to end. Soon.

 

You don’t let anything musical come on for a solid week. The alarm buzzes, you drive with only the wind rushing past your ears, and the TV gets muted ASAP. The things you can’t control– stores, homes, cars with a broken volume button– you…handle. So far, you haven’t heard it again, but you stay on edge, just _waiting_.

“You look like a live wire, Sugarplum.” Gabriel cracks his fingers and wiggles them. “C’mere and let me work out some of those kinks. And then we can work out a different set of kinks.”

Tempting. You’d very much like to work out some tension, but you’re just not up for it. Gabriel is a good time– and a very involved time. “No thanks, Gabe; I’m really tired.”

“I could energize you,” he offers and reaches, but you dodge him quickly, if clumsily.

“Thanks, but all I need is some sleep,” you say and blow him a kiss. “Good night, Gabriel,” you say, shut off the lights, and go to bed.

You hope the message is received.

 

Several days later, after you’ve moved on from the last hunt, you wake up to a song on the radio. Your stomach sinks in dread, but what’s playing is…pleasant. It’s not _that_ song. As far from _that_ song as possible. It’s not your favorite, but the sound of it is benign and the memory of it is…

“May I have this dance?” Gabriel asks, leaning over you and kissing your neck.

You smile as he trails kisses on your skin. “If you had been a real, actual trickster, I probably would have been dead. You were so smooth.”

“Not even a demi-god could have killed you,” he says.

You chuckle and turn over to kiss him. “Still are smooth.”

“I was hoping you’d notice,” he says, eyes glinting in the light. “No hunts lined up today, right?”

“No helping Cas with his mysterious project?”

“Completely done.”

You eye him. “Completely, one-hundred percent, _done_ done?”

“Done forever,” Gabriel says. He affects innocence so well sometimes you can only hope you’re speaking the same language right now, but then his lips cover yours and, well, you’re certainly speaking the same language there.

You break for air and Gabriel looks pretty pleased with himself. You smile and hover just in front of his mouth. “Hey Gabriel?”

“Hmmmmm?”

You trail a finger down his chest. “Every _second_ I hear that song will be a _week_ you feel without me touching you. Comprende?”

“Si, mi amor,” Gabriel says and a painfully fake moustache appears on his face, fresh out of Casa Erotica.

“Ew, I finally found something worse than that song,” you say and start to pull back, but Gabriel drags you back in. You laugh, he gets rid of the moustache, and you both spend the rest of the morning making out to the sounds of the song that played when you first met.


End file.
